


The Summer Knight

by TheBetterBard



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends, F/F, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Not Canon Compliant, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:01:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24057910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBetterBard/pseuds/TheBetterBard
Summary: Jaskier has heard stories of the fae--creatures who delight and destroy. His mother spun him tales of a far off queens and kings, courts that operate outside of the structures of man.  But that is all they are, stories. Of course, Geralt knows better.A hunt results in Geralt and Jaskier getting wrapped up in the politics of the Fey courts.Loosely inspired by the Dresden Files interpretaion on the Fey courts.
Relationships: Calanthe Fiona Riannon/Eist Tuirseach, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 4
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, I'm jumping on the quarantine bandwagon. Enjoy.  
> see bottom for chapter warnings and a fun fact

It was a perfectly beautiful day before everything went to shit.

The sun shined, the birds sang. If there was ever a good time to be out hunting for monsters—this was it.

  
Of course, there was never a good time to hunt for monsters.

  
Geralt steadied his sword and locked gazes with the fey-hound, it’s silver eyes challenging the witcher to attack first. Geralt was already dripping with the blue inners of the first beast brave enough to strike. He seized his opening and rushed at the monster. His silvered sword reflected the warm sunlight as it came crashing down, almost separating the hound’s head from its neck.

  
He heard a yelp from behind him. Quickly, Geralt turned to see the final beast pinning Jaskier against a tree. It was advancing slowly and let out a low growl as it sized up its prey.

  
“Nice doggy, good doggy! I’m really not very tasty—mostly just bones. Shit,” He paused his babbling, “dogs like bones. Geralt! Help!” Jaskier yelled, shielding his lute behind his body.

  
Geralt huffed. That stupid bard would rather die than let anything happen to that damnable lute.

  
The fey-hound was only a few paces away from Jaskier now. Its chest expanded as its lung filled with Jaskier’s scent, like it was sampling a fine whiskey before downing the glass. The beast paused for a terrible moment, giving Geralt a window. He ran towards the hound, hoping he had enough time before it lunged.

Instead, the beast remained in place. Rather than attack, it raised up its head, flesh stretching too tightly over horn and bone, and let out a terrible howl.

  
Both Geralt and Jaskier dropped to their knees as the sound ripped through the forest. The howl crashed through his skull, his heightened senses all screaming out and adding to the cacophony. All he could do was cover his ears with his hands, his sword now lying uselessly a few feet away.

  
Why were jobs so much more complicated when the bard was involved?

* * *

Geralt should have been realized trouble was coming when he ran into Jaskier earlier that day. They had parted ways a while back. Jaskier had some fancy party, and Geralt had to be anywhere else.

Their parting had resulted in gone months of blissful silence. Just him, Roach, and a bunch of dead monsters. Geralt had been on the road for a week before coming to any semblance of civilization. Out of hunger, and desperate need for a bath, he decided to stop in a town which looked like every small town before it.

  
There was little point in even learning the name. Trying to keep the ‘bergs’ straight would likely take more time than he spent in most places. Small towns came with small problems and small payments. Life was uncomplicated. The reward money was enough to get a few nights at a warm inn, if he was lucky.

  
However, sometimes an old ghost story turned out to be more Litch than tall tale. A very pissed off Litch. Those were the jobs that made Geralt weary of taking an ‘old family heirloom’ as payment. Potions costs money, and grandma’s fake pearls won’t do the apothecary any good. So here he was, in need of work, to get some coin, to pay for lodging so he could survive the next job. What a life.  
The old bar was packed for a mid-afternoon. Geralt had half expected to be chased out or given a hard time. Usually he had better luck blending in with the locals once everyone had already had a few pints.

  
In broad daylight, thigs were different. His otherness contrasted with small town life and he rarely gave any mind to being asked to leave with less than kind words. Things had gotten better following the Bards ‘public relations’ efforts, but still he was as likely to be on the sharp end of a pick fork as he was a job.

  
Two dozen people were crowded inside the tiny tavern. All of them transfixed on the musician seated opposite the bar. No one had even turned to look at him looming in the doorway.  
Geralt hadn’t paid the performer any mind. He saddled up to the bar.

  
“What can I get you, friend?” The bar keeper asked over his shoulder, without so much a glance.

  
“Ale,” Geralt grumbled, “And a job.” His voice was horse from weeks of disuse. Roach wasn’t the most vocal companion.

  
The barkeep poured ale from the cask and turned to face the witcher, he didn’t look surprised by Gerald appearance. In fact, he looked amused.

  
“I didn’t know the Bard’s White Wolf was traveling with him. I’m sure the ladies will be pleased.” The man cocked a bushy eyebrow as he slid the mug over.

  
Geralt huffed. “I not traveling with anyone.”

  
“Well then it’s quite the coincidence. The bards been crooning about the White Wolf for a week or so and the young lads and ladies have been eating it up.” He gestured over to where the music is coming from with his chin. “I can’t complain though, good for business.”

  
Geralt turned and listened. He still couldn’t see the bard, but he had doubt about who it was. The lute playing was exquisite. Geralt knew fuck all about music, but he doubted many traveling musicians could play like they were trained at Oxenfurt.

  
“I do have something up your alley, witcher.” The man leaned in. “There’s been wild dogs heard in the woods. Terrible things, it started a few nights back and people are already losing their herds.”  
“Get a huntsman.” Geralt grumbled. He wasn’t about to start killing wolves for coppers. It wasn’t worth the trouble.

  
The barkeep shook his head, “You misunderstand. These aren’t dogs. Old man Richardson saw them eat a whole cow. Said they had great horns and devil’s tails-- like they crawled out of hell.”  
“They only come out at night?”

  
“No, people have been seeing them at twilight. I think we could get a pool going if you get rid of them. We don’t have much but the wool trade has been pretty good. I figure we could cobble together 50 gold.”

  
Geralt looked him in the eye and gave him a nod. The barkeep looked relieved.

  
“thank you, Master witcher.”

  
He took a swig of ale. Dogs with tails, fine. Dogs with horns? Less fine. Hopefully the old man was half blind and this would be the easiest 50 gold Geralt had ever made.

Geralt sat back on his stool and took a moment to listen, really listen to Jaskier’s playing. Might as well enjoy something about the bard’s evadible company.

  
He had to admit it was beautiful. More so, it was textured. The bass notes thrummed with life, while the high intricate melodies wove a bird’s song. Did Jaskier always play like this? Geralt felt the tune tug at his chest, like the ocean waves pulling him from shore. Maybe so long in silence wasn’t good for him after all.

  
It wasn’t long before the solo ended and the gathered crowd erupted in applause.

  
“Thank you, thank you. Remember to tip your bar keep.” Jaskier laughed over the clapping and hollering. “I’ll be back later tonight for another set! See you all again soon!”

  
Slowly the crowd dispersed. A moment later, Geralt was acutely aware of a presence standing behind him.

  
“Do my eyes deceive me, or is that Geralt of Rivia day drinking?” A hand clapped him on the shoulder. “How have you been you big wolf! Kill anything worth writing about?” Jaskier plopped onto a stool next to Geralt. He was glowing from an after performance high. His face was lightly flushed, Geralt could see the faint pink of his cheeks deepening to a dark red lower below his shirt-

Geralt downed his drink.

  
“Ah yes, excellent Idea. Francis,” He gestured to the bartender, “me and my dashing companion would like another round.”

  
Geralt waved a hand, stopping the barkeep “No. I need to get to the woods before dusk.”

  
Jaskier lit up. “A hunt! Geralt, can I come? It been so long since I have seen you in action. I miss the swoosh of your blade, the ways your muscles ripple under your—“

  
Geralt coughed. The keeper was suddenly very interested in cleaning a glass at the opposite side of the bar.

  
“You can’t come, it’s dangerous. I don’t even know what these things are.”

  
“Even more reason to have me along! I can be there to chronical the beast. You’ll be too busy,” Jaskier paused to think, “Stabbing and slashing?” He offered, “I’ll be there observing. When have I ever gotten in your way?”

  
Geralt could think of at least 50 times the bard had gotten in his way.

  
Instead he grunted in resignation.

  
“Oh thank you Geralt! You won’t regret it!”

* * *

The terrible howl continued to rip through the forest. Yet, the beast made no move to attack.

  
Against his instincts, Geralt managed to scramble to his feet. He grabbed for his blade and charged the creature. He used his shoulder and knocked it to its side, stopping the horrible sound.

  
The hound righted itself and focused its attention on the witcher. It reared up on its hind legs, its teeth pulled back into a hideous snarl, ready to pounce.

  
In a flash, it lunged. Geralt deflected the beast and used his momentum to cleave the outstretched limb. The hound fell back with an infernal cry. Jaskier side-stepped to avoid being struck by the newly liberated leg.

  
“Watch it!” Jaskier yelled. He swiped some blue blood off his doublet.

  
Geralt grunted and steadied his blade. The hound was bleeding, yet it looked as if it would make another attack. He didn’t give it a chance.

  
With the last of his speed, Geralt drove his sword through the creature’s neck. It dropped to the ground. Blue blood soaked the earth underneath.

  
The two panted for a moment, catching their breath.

  
“What, pray tell, are those?” Jaskier asked. He poked at the dead hound’s skull with his boot.

  
Geralt had the unfortunate displeasure of know exactly what these things were.

  
“Fey hounds.” He grumbled. Geralt started cutting off one of the beasts heads. It was slow going. His blade didn’t work well on Feycreatures. He was going to need iron, a lot of it. Hopefully one head would be enough to show he killed the pack. “ It’s not good. They don’t usually leave the Feywilds. They definitely don’t leave the Feywilds to eat sheep.”

  
“So why are they here, Geralt?” Jaskier seemed curious.

  
Geralt shrugged. Usually Feyhouds meant that the Fey were not close behind. He had his dealing with The Courts before, and decided that the least interaction the better. Of course, he probably wouldn’t get his way. The howl was a signal. Signaling what, Geralt hadn’t the foggiest.

  
The only thing he knew that he needed to collect his payment and leave this town so that it could be another witcher’s problem.

  
“I thought fairies were stories?” Jaskier asked, innocently. “My mother used to tell me the most delightful--

Geralt raised a hand, cutting him off. “Don’t call them that. And the Fey are never delightful” He stood up and stuffed the head in a bag.

  
“People say that about witchers, and I find you quite charming.”

  
Geralt rolled his eyes, and started making his way back to town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence-- combat with the hounds  
> Violence against animals- combat with feyhounds  
> Drinking-- bar scene
> 
> The chicken was the first bird to have its genome sequenced in 2004


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all are too sweet. I'm living that isolation lifestyle, so feel free to toss a comment or question my way. See end for warnings and a fun fact!!

Jaskier had come up with 27 rhymes for ‘hound’ by the time they had reached Lindenvale. He had to keep himself occupied. Geralt had never been the world’s most gifted conversationalist. He walked behind Geralt and Roach, the whole time plucking his lute as he chronicled their victory.

Jaskier delighted in watching the tips of Geralt’s ears flush to a deeper pink with every line.

“Can you stop doing that?” Geralt snapped when they were about halfway back to town. He fixed the bard his most serious witcher face. “I’ll go up ahead, I’m sure you can make your way back.”

Jaskier remained unfazed. “Oh, come now. After all that trouble you went through in keeping me alive, you would just leave me to be picked apart by wolves in the forest?”

Geralt let out a gruff snort and kicked Roach. The pair began moving quicker.

For a moment, it worked. Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Witchers are pretty petty for people who aren’t supposed to have emotions.” He muttered under his breath and kicked a rock into the underbrush. He watched as Roach and the witcher began fading into the night forest ahead, though never disappearing completely from view.

He gave it a moment, but Roach’s figure never passed the horizon. Jaskier smiled and continued his playing, apparently the brute didn’t want him to be a chew toy after all.

They approached the village as night settled on the land. The tavern glowed warmly in the distance. Loud voices laughed and sang, enjoying all the vices and virtues the small town had to offer. Jaskier had been held up in Lindenvale for about a week and had found the place quite charming. The food was fresh, the inn warm and the company was more than he could ask for. The people were downright delightful, hearty and strong from years of field work. Jaskier had always appreciated anyone who could use a firmer hand—and blessedly, a few of these fine folk had been more than happy to demonstrate.

While Geralt finished tying up Roach, Jaskier made his way to the tavern doors and flung them open with panache.

“We have returned victorious!” He bellowed. His court voice projecting over the tavern conversations. He motioned to the door as Geralt stepped through, the bag in hand.

The townsfolk erupted into applause. Jaskier soaked up the praise as Geralt slinked to the bar.

“How did you do it? The best hunters in town couldn’t even get close?” an old man called from his table.

“I promised you a concert, friend.” Jaskier addressed the man with a chuckle. “Tonight I shall play the world premiere of the ‘Wolf and the Hound’.” He held out his hands like a circus ring leader. A hush had fallen over the bar; all eyes were trained on him. Oh, how he loved to keep them wanting.

Jaskier casually walked over to the makeshift stage he had occupied the last few nights and settled in. A server kindly brought him a pitcher of ale and a glass. Forgoing the cup, he downed the pitcher like he was back in Oxenfurt—to rancorous encouragement from the audience. It tasted a little better than mule piss, but after a few more and an empty stomach, he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference anyways.

He grabbed his lute and tested a few chords to check its tuning. He savored the feeling of the crowd’s attention, 40 people became one beast with 80 eyes—all focused on him.

And then he played.

Jaskier used to worry during a performance. Would his sweaty hands slip from the strings? Would his voice break on the high notes? On the low notes?

Not anymore. When he played everything drifted away. The only thing he could feel was the crowd. Its wants, its fears, its attention. The feeling was intoxicating. It was like taking a drink when you are feeling parched.

A performance used to make him feel drained, but now, it was the only way he could feel alive.

He slipped from one song to the next, feeding the beast. Each movement was a different course: A ballad for story, a bawdy tale for laughter, a war hymn for remembrance. His lines and lyrics fusing to create a single work.

Jaskier finished with a quick trill and gave the crowd a deep bow from the waist. He could feel their energy; the crowd was pleased. But there was something else, something looking at him with different intentions.

When he rose, one pair of eyes stood out. One set that wasn’t part of the beast.

A woman had walked into the bar during the performance. Her warm brown eyes set in a heart shaped face. She was dressed as a noble, which was near impossible this far out in the farmlands. Even nobles with a death wish knew enough to dress as commoners out here.

But it didn’t matter. Jaskier couldn’t picture her blending in if she was wearing a potato sack. Everything about her screamed poise. Even after years in the courts, this woman was the most regal thing Jaskier had ever seen.

She moved with the fluidity of an ice skater. The corner of her lips were pulled up into a wry smile. She batted her lashes and moved to take a seat a secluded table in the corner of the bar. It was a clear invitation for him to follow.

Remembering himself, Jaskier bowed again and slowly the normal world came back. He could hear the audience cheer and beg for an encore. Usually, Jaskier wasn’t one to deny his fans, but the woman had snapped his spell. He felt a little tired. The weight of the day, and all the alcohol, crashed into him like a cart full of bricks.

He slung his lute behind his back and went to join Geralt at the bar.

“Pretty good song for two hours of work.” Geralt sounded a tad suspicious.

“Oh come now, the melody was written years ago.” He took the open seat next to the witcher. “I just needed the right story to tell with it.” Jaskier tried not to blush. Geralt never complemented him, not even when his playing saved them from the raging chimera. Chimeras are suckers for an up-tempo waltz.

Geralt nodded, seeming to accept his answer.

“Did you see that woman?” Jaskier asked, changing subjects. He grabbed Geralt’s drink and finished it off.

Geralt huffed and snatched his glass back, “Would it kill you to get you own drink?”

“Yes, I think that is might.”

Geralt grunted and waved the bartended over to order another round.

“Good sir,” Jaskier leaned over the bar to whisper to the man, “Do you know who that divine creature is?” Jaskier used his head to indicate to the woman.

The barkeep looked over to the corner and shrugged, “I haven’t seen her around, she must just be passing through.” He slid over two mugs, apparently uninterested in the Madame.

“Well then, I guess I’ll just have to go talk to her sooner, rather than later.” He winked at the older man. Puffing out his chest, he adjusted his collar and ruffled his hair.

Geralt had also turned to look at the woman. Jaskier expected Geralt to give his usual nod of agreeance—women were one of the only things the two could agree on. Instead, he felt the man’s body stiffen next him. Geralt’s eyes flashed, their gold reflecting the candle fire.

The witchers hand flew to his medallion, while the other went to his sword.

“Jaskier, stay away from her,” He growled in a voice too low for other patrons to hear, “We need to leave, now.”

“Oh come off it Geralt,” He slapped the witcher on the back and steadied himself on his stool. Jaskier was really feeling the effects of his free drinks.

“That thing over there isn’t human. I don’t know what it wants, but it can’t have good intentions.”

“Maybe I don’t want it to have good intentions?”

“I don’t know what that thing is, but I don’t think you should stick your dick in it to find out!”

Jaskier snorted, “That’s an interesting stance coming from you mister mutant.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt warned.

“Oh, shut up!” Jaskier slurred, his voice rising. “You aren’t my dad and you certainly aren’t my boyfriend.” He took another drink from his ale. “Now, I’m going to go have sex with the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life.” He placed a hand on Geralt thigh and felt the tight leather over muscle, he leaned in—his lips almost touching Geralt’s ear, “unless you want to take her place?”

Geralt stiffened and flushed again, but Jaskier was too drunk to notice. The witcher said nothing.

“That’s what I thought.” He gave Geralt a dismissive pat on the cheek.

Jaskier hopped off his stool and walked to the opposite corner of the tavern. He swished his hips as he walked away. Who needed that taciturn brute? He grabbed two ales off a passing server and made his way to the lady.

“Would you like some company?” Jaskier announced.

She looked up from her meal, and slowly blinked. Was it possible for someone to have such full lashes? He was going to have to ask her how she managed them.

The woman motioned for Jaskier to take the seat on the bench next to her. She pushed her full plate away to make room. 

“I’m glad you finally got away from your friend long enough to keep me company.” Even her voice dripped of nobility. Her words were clipped and crisp as ice on a winter morning. The Lady’s dark brown eyes flitted over towards Geralt, “I was worried I was going to have to fight him for you.”

Jaskier hiccupped and let out a small giggle, “He’s jealous that you would rather spend your time with me.”

She raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow, making Jaskier question his personal grooming ability. They were so far from civilization, yet this person managed to look like she just came from a gala.

“Is he now?” She began tracing the veins on Jaskier’s hands. Her touch was cool against his skin, warmed by the drink. “I heard you play earlier. To think such a talented musician would be all the way out here. Tell me, did you train in Oxenfurt?”

Jaskier nodded, “The one and only. I spent a few years there, did my schooling to become a right and proper bard.” He waved his hand dismissively, “Academia was never really for me, and court life was a no-go. I tend to get thrown out after I upset a percentage of noblemen and ladies. It isn’t my fault that they can’t satisfy their spouses.” He whispered conspiratorially and smiled. So many good memories.

The woman let out a laugh that sounded like the tinkling of bells. Jaskier leaned in even closer. Somehow she even managed to smell amazing. He slid over the extra mug of ale in her direction with a little too much strength. She grabbed it, preventing the glass from falling in her lap. Tiny flowers of frost blossomed on under her touch.

How odd. Jaskier blinked his eyes, and the effect was gone. It must had been some trick of the light.

There was a mischievous look in her eye. If Jaskier seemed suspicious, she took no notice. “How did you get into music?” She continued tracing the lines up to his wrists. “Were your parents musicians?”

Jaskier snorted, falling back into the comfort of flirtatious banter. “Absolutely not. Father wouldn’t know the difference between a lute and a lyre. ‘Improper and unbecoming of a young lord’. Well I showed him, there’s no one on earth who would call me proper.” He took a drink and spilled half of it down the front of his doublet. “Shit!” He cussed and grabbed a napkin to clean himself.

“Oh a noble, any family I would know?” The woman was unfazed. There was an undercurrent of intensity to her voice.

Jaskier waved his free hand, “It doesn’t matter now. No titles, no lands. I’m just a traveling bard.” Jaskier went back to dabbing his doublet. First evil-hound blood, now ale. It was just not his day.

Suddenly, a cold hand gripped his chin.

To anyone outside it would look like a flirtatious touch between lovers. Jaskier felt the tips of her finger burn like the winter wind. They bit into his skin, and the creeping cold made its way deep into his bones. The shock of her grasp sliced though his drunkenness.

Jaskier allowed his face to be pulled to look into the woman’s eyes. Their beautiful brown warmth was replaced with an infinite blackness. Staring at them was like looking into a starless night sky—there was no end to their depth.

“What is your name, boy?”

He swallowed, “Jaskier?”

Her eyes flashed with annoyance, her grip grew colder. “Your real name.” All of her features grew sharper, her teeth more wicked, her beauty more ethereal.

Everything inside him screamed, ‘ _Don’t tell her, don’t tell her, don’t tell her, don’t-’._

“Julian, Julian Alfred Pankratz.” He managed to stutter out through chattering teeth. He gasped as the woman released him.

She took in a long breath and smiled. Her face looked as it had moments before. Beautiful, warm, terribly human.

“Julian,” she said softly to herself. The woman beamed at him. She raised her hand and began stroking the back of Jaskier’s hair, the other on clasped his arm.

“I have been looking for you for a while now,” she spoke softly, almost wistfully. “I had felt the presence of a new child who could call the chaos. It was so weak at first, but something changed. I heard tales of your concerts. ‘Enchanting’, ‘captivating’ were the words used to describe them. Tonight was beyond my wildest dreams. Even in this retched human form, you can channel the chaos and create something divine.”

She looked positively gleeful, her face lighting up with a childlike joy. “You were so difficult, always traveling, always with that damned witcher. No matter, you will be such a splendid addition to the Court.” She planted a cold kiss on his forehead.

This time, he didn’t feel the chill. Instead, a calm settled over him-- cool but comfortable. He felt like a child, bundled up and laying in a snowbank, listening to the dampened sounds of an ice covered world.

No, this was wrong. He should be afraid. Terrified even. Jaskier made a move to stand up. An iron grip on his arm held him in place.

“Little bird, if you make a peep, I will kill everyone in this tavern including your witcher.” Her eyes flicked to the door. “It is time for us to make our way home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> Drinking--bar scene  
> Drunkeness--Jaskier drinks and becomes drunk  
> Violence--Jaskier is restrained 
> 
> Fun Fact: The average body temperature of a cow is 102F/38.9C


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop, sorry for the delay. We are allowed back into work and getting things up and running has been a nightmare. I hope you all enjoy!  
> See bottom for warnings and a fun fact

That stupid bard was going to get the both of them killed. Geralt wasn’t sure how, but he was fairly sure that it was going to be soon.

  
He watched as Jaskier sasheyed towards the person seated at the corner table.

  
Calling her a person was generous. The Winter Court members were more closely related to rocks than to humans. Hell, the Winter Court made Geralt look like an average person.

  
Geralt could clearly see her for what she was. The woman’s eyes were locked on Jaskier, like cat eyeing up a particularly stupid mouse. Her smile was wide and sharp. Looking closer, he could see tendrils of cold pouring off her into the humid air of the packed tavern.

  
How did Jaskier not notice? Did all of the blood rush from his head? Geralt turned back to the bar, unable to watch the tableau about to unfold.

  
He hated dealing with the fae, their tricks and their schemes. Every conversation was a mine field where the smallest misstep was likely to result in tragedy. Many with more silver tongues than Geralt had attempted to finesse the Courts. All of them ended the same. Sure, Jaskier was nimble. But in these situations, Geralt found that silence was the only thing that kept him safe.

  
Geralt wished that all his knowledge was learned second hand from some drunk at the pub, but unfortunately he had many dealings with the fair folk—luckily most of them with the Summer Court.

  
The Summer court was more concerned with bacchanal than their more conquest minded counterpart. Their leadership passed willingly via mantel. A position must be gifted to a successor. In the winter courts, it was the one with the most power who ruled.

  
Of course, both Courts had the potential to be deadly.

Many years back Geralt had worked a job to the south. A pair of twins had gone missing on the day of the festival. Normally, there wouldn’t had been any cause to hire a witcher. Children go missing all the time. It was an unfortunate part of living in the country. Sure, you don’t have some lord breathing down your neck, but you also are without his protection. Those greedy nobles have to maintain their workforces.

  
They found the first twin only a few days later. He was in a clearing, only a short hike into the woods. Original fears of wolves and kidnappers disappeared and left only confusion and heartbreak. According to the hunter who found the boy, the child feet were raw and bloodied while his frame was rendered gaunt. He couldn’t have been dead for more than a few hours, as no animals seemed to scavenge the remains.

  
The body was taken back to the town. The child was so much thinner than three days without supper would cause. It was eerie, but nothing to cause any further alarm.

  
From what Geralt had gathered from the posting, the family mourned and the town moved on. They gave up looking for the other child, assuming the worst.

  
Then, the other twin returned. It was the first new moon following the festival. A traveling merchant found her wandering the road into town, feet bare and dress dirty.

  
At first everyone had rejoiced, but they soon realized the child was different. Changed. She wouldn’t talk or eat, her tanned skin had paled until the slightest ray of sunlight would cause her to burn. She didn’t speak aside from saying that she was hungry.

  
The town assumed that she had been turned into some sort of vampire and called a witcher to take care of the problem. No one wants child blood on their hands—even monster children.  
Though by the time Geralt had arrived, the changeling had had feasted until there was no one left.

  
He found her cowering from the light in her parent’s basement. It was easy to find the trail of blood left by the small creature. She was a young fae. Much too young to be let out in the mortal realms. Summer changelings were introduced into human households to learn how to be human until they are made aware of their nature and would seek their own kind. In this case, the child’s humanity was ripped from her, leaving only the cold hunger of the Winter Court.

  
She was so little. Her eyes looked feral, her teeth too wicked for such a small mouth.

  
It was too weak to put up any fight. The thing had been ripped apart by the Chaos before Geralt had even arrived. Its limbs stretched and twisted, deep gashes marred its skin, its mind flayed by the raw power it had been exposed to.

  
All in all, it was a terrible job. There were no victors here.

  
On a normal day, Geralt would kill the monster, collect his payment, and leave. There was, however, no one to collect payment from. There were no half-hearted thanks. There weren’t even any townspeople left to tell him that he outstayed his welcome. Information was his only prize.

  
Stupidly, he sought out his contact in the Courts. He was young then, and still eager to expand his knowledge of monsters in the night. If he couldn’t get any coin, maybe knowledge about what happened to the town would help him on another job. In general, the fae were thought to be a little more than a myth. He had been warned to not dig to deeply into their existence. To know the fae was to become them. Knowledge of their existence would only lead off The Path.

  
This contact was probably Geralt closet relation outside Kaer Morhen, though he’d never admit it. Even in his youth, Geralt didn’t have friends. In this way, Lady Fall was a bit of an outlier. Friends were liabilities and Geralt liked to think that he didn’t need them. In truth, he knew that he was too much of an ass to keep anyone around for a long enough time.

  
Someone had taken a contract out on the Lady in Geralt’s very early days. She took pity on the young witcher and, rather than killing him, decided to aide him on his Path. She would often remark that ‘Their fates were entwined’ and there was little Geralt could do to avoid her for long.

  
No one would make the mistake of calling them friends, but Geralt always enjoyed his time with the creature. She was beautiful, brilliant, and tight lipped. Apparently learning from her time as a member of the Winter Court, though now she would consider herself a free agent.

  
That day, Fall agreed to share what she knew. Apparently, this town had agreed to ritual sacrifice during a dark and ancient part of their history. Every 27 years, two children would be taken, one for Winter and one for Summer. This cycle, the Winter Court returned their gift. The child was without talent and there was no hope for her to ever channel the chaos and to become a true fae of the Winter Court. An ungifted sacrifice was, apparently, enough to spur Winter’s ire.

  
It wasn’t very helpful information. Geralt had been ready to curse her out for letting this happen. Fall was indifferent to human suffering, but she had always found random acts of violence distasteful. But the look on her face stopped him.

  
Even all these years later, Geralt can still see her intense gaze. Eyes wide with recognition and cold with pity. It was like she had pieced something together, but wasn’t willing to share with the class.  
She only offered one thing before she left. His involvement in the case, followed by their contact had stirred the attention of the Courts. Attention that would surely lead to his undoing.

  
Geralt had spent the next 60 years avoiding the Fair Folk’s request for an audience with varying success.

  
Now, here he is--sitting in a bar where his bard is falling head over heels for one of those beings of untold power and evil.

  
He stared into his empty mug, willing it to be full.

  
He certainly wasn’t brooding.

  
“Sir, are going planning on covering your friends tab?” A loud voice shook him from his memories.

  
Geralt looked up and squinted at the barkeep, “He’s an adult, he can buy his own drinks.”

  
The bartended raised his hands in a display of peace. “I’m sure he can, but he just left with his date without paying and they racked up quite the bill.”

  
Geralt stood up. His stool screeched, protesting the sudden movement. He whipped head around to the corner to find it empty.

  
“Where did they go?” Geralt turned back to the man, standing at his full height.

  
“I didn’t see!” He looked around for someone to help him, but all other patrons were suddenly very invested in their drinks. “They didn’t pay for a room, I think they went outside.” The barkeep managed to stammer out.

  
Stupid. Geralt brought a hand to his medallion. When did the thing stop singing, and why didn’t he notice? This is what happened when he let his guard down.  
He threw some gold on the bar and grabbed his pack from the ground.

  
The outside air was cool compared to the stuffy tavern. Night had completely fallen and a wide swath of open forest and empty town lay before him. Even his eyesight couldn’t see the bard in the distance.

"Fuck”, He cursed to himself. He was running out of time. Grabbing Roach from the stables was out of the question. She had been brushed and the tack had been put away, he would lose too much time getting her ready.

  
Geralt forced himself to take a breath. He needed to calm down. Rash movements wouldn’t help Jaskier. He felt a begrudging calm wash over him as he slowed his thinking and listened.  
nd then he heard it. It was faint, nothing more than a few notes carried by a gentle breeze. Someone in the woods was playing a lute.

  
eralt bolted towards the forest. Those feyhounds didn’t spring up out of thin air. They must have been scouting for their master, which meant there was a door somewhere close. What the fae wanted with Jaskier was anyone guess. Geralt pushed away thoughts of the bard striking deals left and right with beautiful charming fae.

  
Any attempt at stealth was forsaken for speed. The trees rose up around him, blocking out the light from the moon. Roots and vines grasped at his ankles as he attempted to retrace their path from earlier. The lute playing growing louder, the melody clearer.

  
“My, my. If you weren’t so beautiful, I would think you are out here to murder me.” Geralt could hear Jaskier voice. Though meant as a joke, Geralt could make out a terrible edge to the words.  
Geralt couldn’t see them but the voices were easy to pick out. Geralt noticed that the forest was deathly silent. There were no birds or wind to masks his footsteps. There was no way the Winter Fae hadn’t noticed him.

  
“Oh little bird, why must you conflate my beauty with good intentions?” She chided. Her tone clipped like a disapproving mother. “Beauty is a tool, nothing more. Now come along, quickly. I grow tired of this realm.”

  
Shit. Geralt was so close, only a few hundred meters away. He could make it.

  
“Ah. No, that’s quite alright. I think I would rather stay here--”

  
Jaskier was cut off.

  
Geralt felt a frigid wind rip through the air and his medallion screamed against his chest. He kept running, kept pushing through the cold burst. Geralt raised an arm to protect from ice and sleet now relentlessly cutting into his face.

  
Then it stopped. The blizzard was replaced by the stagnant summer night air. Geralt didn’t stop running and in a few short moments he burst into the clearing.

  
The bodies of the feyhounds were gone, but he knew it was the same. He looked around wildly. The summer stillness now mocking. There was no sound of voices, no twigs snapping, no rustlings from the underbrush. There was only silence and Geralt knew he was truly alone.

  
He stood there for a long while. Jaskier was gone and it was Geralt’s fault. The bard was another human life on his hands. If he hadn’t been so jealous and petty, Jaskier would still be here. They would be sweating in the tavern, Jaskier still on his lap flirting like there was no tomorrow.

  
Time passed slowly. Gradually the forest came alive. It was like all creatures were holding their breath until it was safe from Winter.

  
Eventually, the dark of the clearing was cleaved by a pale sliver of moonlight. A circle of mushroom sat innocuously at the center. He knew it was the door. Geralt himself had been through his fair share. A closed fairy ring was useless without a fae to open it and who know where Jaskier had been taken. Time moves differently in the Courts, he could be across the plane by now.  
But it did give him an idea.

  
A dumb one to be sure, but it was something.

  
Geralt dug through his pack and grabbed a small white flower. It had been attached to an invitation from the Summer Court and no matter how he tried, he could never seem to get rid of it.

  
He grabbed it triumphantly. After all this time, it still looked like it had plucked this morning. The sap stuck to his fingers as he crushed the delicate petals.

  
“I request an audience with the Summer Court!” He yelled as he squeezed the flower in his palm.

  
For a second, nothing happened. Geralt was left alone, stupidly grasping a flower like a child. His stomach dropped, realizing that it didn’t work.

  
“Oh well, didn’t I say ‘Attention would lead to your undoing’?” A sarcastic voice sang out from the darkness.

  
“Yennifer?”

  
A beautiful fae stepped into the moonlight. Her raven dark hair somehow blacker than the forest behind her. The violet of her eyes glowed eerily making it clear that Geralt had this predator’s full attention.

  
“Ouch, real names I see.” She scrunched her face in distaste. “Is that how you greet an old friend after, what, 50 years? I have to say that you look incredible for a man pushing 100. Are you sure you aren’t Fae?”

Geralt ignored her. “I need an audience with Her Majesty the Lioness. It is urgent”

  
Yennifer rolled her eyes and walked over to a stump to take a seat. She smoothed out her dress making her non-urgency extremely clear. “And you will get an audience. Now, you have kept her waiting for the better part of a century, it seems only fair that you wait the same time.”

  
“Yen, please. The Winter court took Jaskier.”

  
“Who?” She examined her nails.

  
“The,” He paused trying to find the words, “…Bard I travel with.”

  
She snorted, “That’s rich. The mighty White Wolf is going to give up his freedom for some bard he was traveling with?”

  
“Please. I can’t lose him.”

  
Lady Fall waved her had as if to blow away a bad odor. “Ugh I’m such a sucker. Fine, currently I’m in residence at the Summer Court. Her Majesty sent me here in good faith since she knows of our past. I’m sure I can smooth things over with her.” She stood up from her stump and moved over to the fairy circle.

  
“I thought you didn’t belong to any Court?”

  
“I don’t.” Yen continued inspecting the toadstools until she found what she was looking for. “But the Winter Queen has been interested in getting me back ‘into the fold’. The last few decades have been difficult and I decided to try my luck making friends with the Lioness.” Her tone was measured as she found words which toed the line of truth and lies. “So far Tissaia has turned her attentions away from me for the time being. Here we go.”

  
Yen tapped one the mushrooms and the crackle of her magic filled the clearing. It smelled of fallen leaves and the promise of dark nights ahead. The space between the mushrooms filled with a crisscross of knot work that glowed the same color as Yen’s eyes.

  
She motioned for Geralt to step into the circle, “Age before beauty.”

  
He started walking, suppressing his instinct screaming at him to turn around and leave well enough alone.

  
“Oh wait, before we go,” Fall raised a finger at Geralt, “You owe me one.” The words had a different tone. They wrapped around Geralt’s mind.”

  
“I know.” He relented, “Though, I have a feeling that there will be a queue.”

  
He stepped into the portal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> Drinking  
> Kidnapping  
> Violence against children  
> Death of children
> 
> A giant sequoia can consume up to 500 gallons of water daily!


End file.
